16th July 2013

at my parent's place, we were a silent family. hey, it wasnt that we didn't speak to each other. ours was a regular normal family. Dad was a disciplinarian, a man of few words. Mum was a busy mother and a homemaker. there was a lot of affection, yet ours was a quiet silent family.

it was after i got married that i started mentally comparing the companionship between me and the spouse and that between my parents. there was so much conversation between me and the husband, we had so much to ask, we had so much to share, so much to talk

I had been used to the silences at my parents’. those were not the silences of wars waging in the background, rather they were the silences of comfortable togetherness.

I however preferred the chatter in my relationship.

Over the years, life happened. There were responsibilities to shoulder and we got busy balancing roles as parents, offspring, offspring – in-law, siblings, siblings-in-law. I forgot what it was to be me, he forgot what it was to be him.. we continued playing as a team. did not let the respect and affection diminish , but somewhere the companionship and more importantly the conversation disappeared. That which was about him and me.

we even manage to find the me time, but the us timei is relegated, the fone, the tabs the laptops, the books,,, all are effectively isolating us.

so many times thre is something i want to share, read out but the spouse is busy. and on the one occasion that he initiaetes a jlt conversation, i happen to be busy sorting out some other issue. the folly of not having entertained the spouses call is realised but ..

Our communication now comprised mainly about issues related to the family, matters that had to be resolved seeking each others opinion. Work priorities, familial ones.. all took preference. Where was the time to think about our individual selves.

Yesterday , after a really really long time, we planned a small outing. Just the 2 of us.

“Mere saath chalogi? Akele darr toh nahi lagega?”... this was the husband, asking of me, on a beautiful Sunday morning.

Bring down those raised eyebrows, this wasn’t intended to and did not sound half as romantic as Jackie Shroff did , in the movie Aaaina. It was just that I needed to be driven to the other end of town. It was a Sunday , the driver was on leave and the husband offered to drive. I am not comfortable when the husband is at the wheel. He was simply amused at my desperation.

This Sunday, was one of those very very rare days, where there were no pressing demands on our time or our attention. Free we were .

Driving on the empty streets of Mumbai on a Sunday morning…, the sky a dull grey, a shade of grey which brought out the greens of the trees, the colors in the building and the streets. We were cruising over all the flyovers, taking in the sights - the chawls around Lower Parel, the churches and the synagogue, the old buildings and mosques as u pass by the J J hospital, the period buildings as one drives into Fort, It was a treat to the eyes. The drive was a beautiful one.

In the evening we decided to drive to Malad. Again, just us. Yeah, I like to push my luck.

The husband had spent the impressionable years of his bachelorhood in goregaon and malad. Goregaon and malad was where I was born and brought up too. All along the drive we were talking about the good old days. As we reached malad, we took a wrong turn, lost our way and then something took over him. Our intended destination was abandoned. He said he wanted to visit his old place of residence.

He was baffled by the changes the 20 odd yrs had brought to the place. New road, new buildings…..and he was talking animatedly. Pointing out a landmark, the places he used to frequent, the route he walked then…. Oh, the nostalgia!

I was pleasantly surprised and extremely pleased to see him like that. The same the boyish enthusiasm in him once more, the kind eyes twinkling with excitement and laughter, once more….the patient unruffled countenance …. and yes , the conversation. He talked , he smiled he laughed. He wanted to walk into the building, check on the old neighbours….

The years simply melted. Disappeared.. he was no longer the serious, responsible spouse and father- a man in his late forties.. gone was the slightly cynical expression in his eyes, the impatience…….

This was the man I had fallen for.

Communication. Companionship. the conversation, the connect… it was all happening . the warm fuzzy feeling returned.

Hmmm…… I was thinking… I had always been the talker and he the listener. He was a good listener encouraged me to share, . Listened with interest. Supportive too. Occaisonally I would now have to the prodder …prodding him to talk. Be the listener

It is only when u are able to give up on the “I”, that a relationship flourishes, they say. But it also true that the unique traits and quirks of every “I” that adds a zing to the relationship.

we are all about seriousness while doing that which is expected from us. Discharging duties and responsibilities . . it is these these little seemingly inconsequential  moments which keep a relationship alive , kicking and rollicking… . where you can be just you and just you. one simbly has to Grab evey such moment or steal as much as u can. It is only service that one is doing to the relationship